Red
by 8belles
Summary: A strange new strain of a contagious disease is sweeping the world. Is it terrorism or just a girl who wants to be noticed? Will the U.N. call in the Avengers from the Accords? Or will some of them have to take this on themselves? #Vaccinate
1. In Sickness and Regret

"Is it ready?" The tension in in her voice was palpable. Darkness surrounded them in the predawn hours, the air heavy with the smell of woodland and pine needles.

"Yes, ma'am. Just waiting your orders.", the tech replied hands poised over the remote controls of the drone. The engines hummed like a furious hive of bees that just had their nest kicked.

"Let it fly." She whispered eagerly, her green eyes skyward where the stars blinked impassively. Slowly, the drone lifted into the night air carrying its burden towards the nearby utopian compound where a group of Armageddon preppers lived.

* * *

"In the news tonight, the state health department in Montana have called for additional assistance to rescue several people from the United Front compound." The news anchor read the teleprompter, his voice just enough concern to grab your attention but not scare. "It seems that several of the residents have contracted measles. Local authorities are not sure where the original infection came from and suspect it may be related to the anti-vaccination leaning leadership."

The anchor's head disappeared as a video clip from the compound played. One of the 'elders' as he identified himself materialized for his fifteen seconds of fame, "We really don't want any government help." The man's grey eyes were flinty and tucked in creases of sun wrinkled skin, "But we're at a loss here. My… my granddaughter…" his voice cracked a fraction, "and others are very sick. Once we get this cleared up, we'll go back to doing things _our_ way." He began to cough and covered his mouth with his sleeve.

The anchor's face reappeared as he finished the final details of the story, seguing smoothly to the weather.

* * *

Steve gazed absently out the window into the jungle beyond. His skin crawled and muscles twitched with a lack of something to do. His heart was broken into millions of pieces by his best friend, lying in cryostasis just a few rooms away while Wakandan scientists worked zealously for a fix to Hydra's seventy-year mind wiping damage. His mind understood what Bucky did, but it still hurt like a deep, aching bruise that takes months to get over.

The team was scattered, which was for the better, again an easily logical truth but difficult emotion to swallow. It gagged in his throat when he tried to push it down. Often at meals, he found himself pushing around his food absently thinking about them. Falcon would crack jokes on anyone and the teasing felt warm and good. Natasha would smile coyly and flirt with everyone which made them all feel special to have her singular attention even for a moment; Tony would sulk and complain about how much they all cost him to feed and shelter like a grouchy old man. Banner would sit in the corner just taking it all in. Hawkeye would be in deep philosophical discussion with Vision and then he'd utter a stream of expletives when he didn't agree with the android. Thor drank his weight in liquor, the huge Asgardian's laugh echoing in the space as Wanda's chiming laugh was a counterpoint. Cap's mind wandered back to that night right before Ultron showed up. That was the last time they were all together in a moment of levity. It was the last time they were all smiling together as a team.

Steve changed his focus to his reflection in the glass as tropical birds soared by. He looked old. He looked tired. He looked lonely.

Tony hadn't called on the burner phone and Rogers didn't really expect him to.

Right now, it was like the world didn't know what to do with itself without the Avengers in it.

Realistically, Steve knew it couldn't last. People were people and aliens always had a way of showing up at importune times.

Getting up, from his seat, he went to shake off the jitters by taking a run. Maybe, just maybe he'd sleep better tonight if he worked out. The ghost of Falcon chased him on his right.

* * *

Natasha sat in the coffee house in Dubai, her stunning red hair covered by a hijab. Her linen robes modestly concealed her weaponry but provided coolness from the oppressive heat. From behind her large framed, dark sunglasses, she surveyed the crowd as she sipped strong coffee, much like that day in Lagos.

Lagos: her mind replayed that day that set into motion all the chaos they had been through in the last several months. The timeline rolled out from in front of her eyes behind the glasses; fracturing of the team, betraying Steve and his confidence to side with Tony. It seemed the best choice at the time. Or was it?

Truth was a matter of circumstance, right? It's not all things to all people, correct? She frowned, feeling the muscles tense between her eyes and tension creeping up her neck to encircle her skull. Romanov despised second guessing herself.

Was she worthy now to be Steve's friend? Had she deceived him through the whole Zemo incident? _Listen to yourself_ , Natasha scolded, disgusted in her flippant stream of thought, _'Incident' pfah! Just Steve getting his soul ripped out of his chest, Tash. This was more than some 'incident'. Stop compartmentalizing everything! Be real for once. Be present. You let him down and you know it._

Shifting her weight uneasily in her chair, she felt like when she had done something bad in the Red Room and was awaiting punishment from the Mistress. Widow's palms began to sweat uncomfortably. To distract herself, she sipped from the cup of lukewarm coffee in its tiny cup. Far away the call to prayer was heard from a minaret.

She told him it was best if they all stayed together, no matter how or why.

In the end, he stuck to his principles. God how she admired that in him, she sighed heavily. Steve was unflappable, stalwart and unwavering to the end. What was she… a snake in the grass just waiting for the next convenient friendship or connection to further her plans or mission? Was she really that shallow? _I don't know… are you?_

In the end, her guilt let Steve and Bucky escape.

A smirk pulled at the corner of her lip recalling that conversation with T'Challa. It was heated, just like this land where she found herself hiding in the middle of her web.

" _What in the world were you thinking!" T'Challa shouted as he ripped off his mask as the last Widow Bite wore off, tiny streaks of blue electricity playing over his body armor._

" _I told you, I'd lead you to them, not help you catch them." She said indifferently, pushing back her hair and straightening her clothes._

" _He's a murderer!" the Wakandan king raged, his claws still extended, "I could have you arrested as an accomplice right now."_

" _I have nothing to lose." She said surprised at her own despondent tone as if something else had left with Steve and Bucky, such as her dignity._

 _In a huff, T'Challa stomped off in pursuit of the men, "I do not have time for you, Black Widow. I'll deal with you later."_

And there he left her in the burning hanger in Germany.

It still didn't make her feel any better. Supposedly, she was on the right side of the argument, but it certainly didn't feel right. A waiter smiled pearly teeth at her from under his beard and offered her more coffee. She politely smiled back and let him fill the cup.

Flipping her phone alive, she read the news. Some contagious form of measles was spreading across the western U.S. It had an unusual virulence. She read dispassionately and scrolled through more headlines. Until Ross and his crew called, she had no work to do. Nothing more than sit and wait, like a spider a web.


	2. Brush Fire

The panorama of monitors covered every channel; CNN, FOX, NBC etc with the news. Reporters stood in front of cameras, most wearing surgical masks that muffled their voices, as they gave totals of dead, and sick for Billings, Montana. Next came Cheyenne, Wyoming, Boise, Idaho and finally Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

The CDC officials interviewed were exhausted, frustrated and short tempered on camera as more and more people came into ER's and hospitals. "The r-nought for normal measles is 15. That means for every sick person, they'll infect 15 people. This… "the doctor scraped a hand down her face and looked wearily at the camera, "This… has an r-nought of about double that. We can't get in front of it. It's like a brush fire."

"What about immunization? Isn't measles a preventable disease?" the reporter spoke into the microphone through their mask. Someone coughed off camera. Nervous glances went around.

" Yes, but this isn't normal measles. It's like super-measles." The exhausted doctor stated plainly. "Please, don't congregate. Don't come to the hospitals unless you are sick and wash your hands."

"Thank you, doctor." The reporter replied and turned back to the camera and sneezed.

* * *

Steepling her fingers under her chin, Erica stared at the monitors as if it was visual heroin. Every cough, sneeze and death toll thrilled her beyond imagining. Never did she think her experiment would work so well!

When her university dismissed her from graduate school, she was angry. That was an understatement; she was livid. In her mind, she had done nothing wrong. The academics and FBI saw it differently when she used CRSPR to mutate the bacterium she was using from a new beneficial drug making form of the organism to a horrifically dangerous "super germ" capable of killing. Erica watched as all her work was autoclaved into non-existence. Her notes, files and data all destroyed. Did they do that to Jane Foster when she 'discovered' Thor and the bridge to Asgard? No. She got a goddamed Nobel Prize in physics, practically. Instead, here on Earth, Erica Martin became an outcast, banned from labs across the country and even internationally for her lack of 'responsibility' to the greater good.

What good was 'good' if that envelope wasn't pushed from time to time? She wasn't some doctor taking an Hippocratic oath to do no harm. She was a cell biologist, and a damn good one too.

Martin shifted her gaze around the array of monitors all telling the same tales but in different voices and pondered how she arrived at this glorious place. Two parents, middle class upbringing. No miserable Batman story of loss or endless cycles of abuse that would drive a young mind to the darkness for revenge. There was that one time in Girl Scouts she was dismissed for torturing beetles when they worked on their science badges. Tony Stark had a weeklong workshop for bright teens at the Avengers compound and she was selected. Everyone student hung on the words falling from Tony's mouth except her. She recalled yawning several times in boredom. Otherwise, she as normal as they come in just about every way from her auburn hair to her porcelain skin dotted with freckles.

Erica Martin just wanted to be known for something other than being _good_.

She wanted to be known for being _great_ at being bad for just that sake.

And now it was all happening because of her.

Her assistant knocked gently on the door frame interrupting her thoughts, "Ma'am, should we ready another drone?"

She blinked to take the dazzle out of her eyes, "No. Not yet. Let's see if the CDC really did get the r-nought right."

"Yes, ma'am." He replied and then retreated.

 _You say it's 30, but it's more than that. So much more_ , Erica thought wickedly. _It is a brush fire and everyone is going to burn._


	3. Daydreaming

Cap sat down at dinner with T'Challa and his friends in the rather convivial dining room. Surrounding the diners were warm hued walls featuring murals of the great Wakandan folk stories told in bold geometric patterns. The exotic spices and flavors that they promised made Steve's mouth water. Long gone were his days of eating everything boiled to the blandness and consistency of wallpaper paste. The memory of cooking with Wanda in the Avengers kitchen rushed forward in his mind as she tried to show him how to make goulash the authentic way, not the Americanized deli way.

" _No, Steve. This. That is not garlic powder. But I prefer fresh. Let me show you how to chop garlic cloves." Wanda laughed congenially at Cap as he picked up the wrong bottle, holding it out to her like a child would, an uncertain expression on his face._

 _Vision watched protectively from the edge of the counter and then moved forward, almost gliding, "Wanda, I think I'll chop that for you if you don't mind. Captain Rogers certainly would not want his hands to reek of garlic for hours afterward. My skin is impervious to odors. Allow me." With an expert grab, he removed the knife and cloves from Wanda's hands and quickly had the cloves peeled and chopped precisely._

 _Rogers smiled at Wanda, giving her a wink, "So that's how you do it."_

 _Wanda pressed a smile and gave Vision a stern look as her cheeks colored slightly, "Yes. Yes, it is. Thank you, Vision."_

" _Anything for you." Vision said gazing tenderly at her. Cap removed himself quickly from the kitchen with a lame getaway line. He might be ninety plus, but he knew new romance when he saw it._

"Captain Rogers?" T'CHalla asked him again.

Steve blinked, not realizing he had been inattentive as he remembered that time before the big break. "Sorry. Sorry. Was I day dreaming?"

"Apparently so, Steve. Your holding up dinner." T'Challa chuckled warmly as the person sitting to Cap's left was holding a communal bowl of curry to be passed about.

"Excuse me." Rogers replied sheepishly, taking the bowl and ladling some to his plate and passing it on.

"Must be your age, as you American's tease, yes?" T'Challa replied taking the bowl.

"I suppose." Steve admitted, "I'm no spring chicken."

"In Wakanda, age is a revered as a source of wisdom and history." One of T'Challa's advisors commented.

"Yeah, back in my day that was true too. Not so much these days with the internet, I guess." Rogers replied.

The advisor smiled, "Yes, but knowledge is not the same as wisdom."

"On that point, we can agree." Steve returned before taking a bite.

Suddenly, a messenger entered the dining room and handed a communique to T'Challa. Dinner stopped at the table as he opened and read the information. The king's brow furrowed in thought and then looked over his assembled advisors and friends.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, concerned.

"Have you heard about the measles outbreak in the United States?" T'Challa looked seriously at the former Avenger.

"Yeah. Why? Measles isn't a big deal anymore since the vaccine." Rogers replied.

"Well that has changed." T'Challa handed Rogers the letter and let him read it.

Steve's face blanched some. His blue eyes looked up from the paper, "I need to go."


	4. Anew

Natasha had relocated herself to Turkey from Dubai. If you kept moving, it just made things easier like a paper bag tumbling in the wind. No one cared about trash if it kept moving. _Don't be so harsh on yourself, Tash_ , she admonished. _Everyone is an adult and can make their own choices. We made choices and now we're living by them._ What would Fury do, she often thought wondering if she could ferret him out and find a safe harbor.

Nick would probably welcome her in with open arms but then give her the passive-aggressive cold shoulder for becoming attached to people. She was his go-to girl comfortable with everything and anything. Steve then cajoled thoughts in her that she believed the Red Room had crushed out like a finished cigarette. _Damn him_ , she sighed, _you made me start caring about what other people think and think of me._ She hoisted her pack and moved on hearing Fury's low growling voice, "Keep on steppin!"

Her temporary comfort was how quickly she fell back into her Black Widow days before she was an Avenger; before she had been duped by HYDRA within S.H.I.E.L.D. and then forced to choose sides between her dearest friends.

With a blank slate, she set out to remake herself for what seemed the millionth time. It was like muscle memory as she found with ease all her old caches of ID's, weapons and provisions. Much like the Christmases she never had as a child, she would always laugh a sarcastic, bitter laugh knowing she had the last word on those who would destroy her.

Walking through the market at the height of shopping, she glanced down at the newsstand and saw a headline: Measles Epidemic Now Engulfing All the US. Borders Sealed.

An itch formed in the back of her brain. This looked like the work of a terrorist. Despite anti-vaxxer sentiments in some parts of the country, there still was a herd immunity in America, but it was tipping quickly the other way. But this…this had all the trappings of a terrorist attack.

She walked herself over to an internet café and paid for a cup of Turkish coffee and a terminal. A quick search brought her up to speed:

 _Rutgers_

… "The United Nations has declined comment on if they will activate the Avengers to assist in this situation as there apparently is no role for them to play. The only Avenger who would be most useful at this time would be Dr. Bruce Banner and he is AWOL."

 _AP_

… "Tony Stark was quoted as saying that he has his best and brightest scientists working on a cure and or vaccine for this new strain of the measles. He would not comment on if this was a weaponized disease or a naturally occurring one."

 _New York Times_

….. "The Mexican and Canadian government has sealed their borders with the United States and promised humanitarian aid but that no US citizens are allowed into their countries. Air drops of medical supplies have begun to occur in some of the worst hit cities such as Los Angeles, Denver and St. Louis. Rural residents are flocking to larger cities for treatment. The US Army is organizing mass graves for the deceased."

Her eyes widened: mass graves.

Natasha knew what she had to do.


	5. Family

Erica finished her solitary meal in the side room from her 'lab' she had created in the U-Store-It facility, carefully wiping her lips and took a sip of her wine. Flipping through her phone, she saw that Congress had been suspended and any lawmakers who were not sick were working via the Internet. The President was ill in bed and on every antiviral known to man. The Vice President was quoted as "ready to take the burden of leadership at this difficult time."

 _I bet you are_ , she thought with a grin, the red wine staining her teeth like blood.

Leadership: look how it crumbles from a simple virus with the careful nudge of a brilliant mind. Preening for a moment, she mentally patted her back for her mutation of this virus into something that the medical community would not be able to identify.

Her phone rang. With an annoyed look, she saw it was her mother. Heaving a sigh and trying not to roll her eyes out of her head, Erica swiped to take the call, "Mom. How are you?"

An older woman's voice replied with maternal worry, "I'm fine. Are you safe?"

"Yes, Mom. I'm fine. The lab has us all quarantined away from the public. I told you that already." Martin gently chided. "In fact, you shouldn't be calling me since someone could trace this conversation to our location. Sick people do crazy things, you know."

"Yes. I… I know. I just miss you and I worry." her mother stated plainly.

"I know. I miss you too. Soon this will all be over, I'm sure." Erica's eyes sparkled as she took another sip of wine.

"Ok, hon. Just be safe, ok? Dad and I are ok." Her mother responded sounding a bit hurt. Martin nodded silently on her end, remembering the vaccine shots she had given her parents calling them 'free flu shots from work.'

"Love you." Erica stated and hung up her phone.

Leaning back in her chair, she laced her fingers behind her head. She loved her parents, but they just didn't understand her. It was like she was in college and everyone else was in kindergarten. Martin stretched her back and shoulders as she contemplated her family. Her mom was a clerk for the Bursars office at the local college. Her dad worked as mechanic for a friend who had his own shop. An involuntary smile lifted her lips as she reminisced leaning over the body wall of a car as child, peering into the dark abyss of the engine compartment while her father's deft hands wove in and out of the parts that were covered in grime.

He'd mumble to himself about what the problem was as his red hair became dusty with engine soot. "Ok. Starter connections here to the alternator are ok. Fuel pump? Naw. Maybe the battery…"

She would listen to him for hours talking to himself. He always fixed the problem, though. Her father liked to brag occasionally he was a better mechanic than his friend. He'd piss him off and they'd get in a fight that resolved itself over a few beers and burgers in the back yard.

Sometimes she'd find herself doing it too as she moved about her lab gently talking out loud to her microbes and cells as if they could hear and understand what greatness she had in store for them. Except there was no one here to brag to and no one to start a fight with to resolve over cheap suds and chargrilled beef.

Shaking her head, she cleared her mind. It was almost time for stage two.


	6. El Diablo

"Hey gorgeous." Tony Stark's voice purred from the other end.

"What do you want?" Natasha replied flatly over her one piece of Stark tech; her completely encryptable phone.

"Where are you?"

"Irrelevant." A small smirk appeared because she had hacked the phone's GPS to turn it off. A right at the green light made her note the severe lack of pedestrians or anyone outside at all. It was a ghost town. Everywhere she'd been since sneaking back across the border had been just like this: empty.

He sighed resignedly, "Fine. No doubt you've been watching the news."

"Two steps ahead, Tony." She changed lanes against no traffic, but being wary of National Guard who were out on patrol to stop any looting.

"As always, my dear." he agreed. "Are you helping?"

"In any way I can." Natasha stated.

"So does that mean we're getting the band back together and finding out where Bruce is?" Stark ventured cautiously.

"What gives you the impression _I know_ where he is?" the acid in her voice was thinly veiled.

Tony paused on the other end and cleared his throat.

"Feeling ok, Tony?" Her tone cut.

"Yep. Just fine." he recovered. "Call me if you need any help. I'm doing what I can here."

"I know you are, Tony." Natasha softened a bit and then hit the button hanging up the phone.

Scouting out a parking place that hid her car from guardsmen and looters, she exited the vehicle. For a spy like her, it was easy to get to Mexico and work her way via her secondary level of caches she kept all over the world towards the border with the United States. She was oddly thankful that her Red Room training never seemed to fail her when it came to survival.

Natasha remembered moving through Mexico after she managed to convince a pilot to give her his plane, landing in Mexico City. Everywhere she went, people were streaming away from her northerly course. Some had gas masks on, there were some respirators that car painters wore, some only had rags over their faces. The rich and the poor were thrown together in a mad mix of humanity all trying to escape the rampant virus that began outside their country.

People made wide lanes around her as she moved north, no mask, no protection. Their eyes were wide with fear and suspicion.

"Gringo loco, la muerte es de esa manera! ¡Qué demonios estás haciendo!" a man yelled at her as he shoved past.

A different one spat on the ground in her direction and crossed himself, "Ella debe ser el Diablo."

She ignored both of them and forced onward.

The U.S border was easy to cross as well. The border patrols had been stretched so thin from the mass exodus of people out of the United States that they didn't pay much attention to those who were moving in the opposite direction. A quick snip of some barbed wire, a hot wired jalopy of a farm truck, and she was moving north again.

Somewhere in New Mexico, from the highway she saw construction bulldozers working in a field. The operators were in Tyvek suits and their gloves and boots were taped on at the wrists and ankles, a full respirator on their backs. Slowing the car she had "borrowed", Natasha saw piles of what looked like rolls of plastic. As she peered closer, she noticed they were bodies. The workmen were digging mass graves. Narrowing her eyes, Romanoff hit the gas, even more determined to get to Casper, Montana. Black Widow caught a fragment of the news broadcast on the radio.

…. "This is NPR News. Today the CDC and WHO made the announcement that they have successfully decoded the RNA of the new super measles virus and that this was man made. The NSA, FBI and CIA are working around the clock with their reduced staff to find where the possible terrorist could be located that produced this disease. Again, the CDC is reminding everyone to stay away from congregating. Wash your hands frequently to prevent the spread of the virus and cover your cough. The National Guards are distributing food and water to your local aide stations. Stay tuned for more information as it becomes available."

Natasha had a pretty damn good idea where this virus came from. Whomever it was, they would have hell to pay when she got there.

A/N- sorry for any Spanish errors. Google translate is my friend.


	7. Apologies are in order

Steve didn't have Widow's cache of supplies at his disposal but T'Challa was more than accommodating.

The two men faced each other in front of the Wakandan jet in the cavernous hangar that sat below the immense panther statue high above them upon the cliff. Steve looked uncertain. "What do you fear, Steve?" T'Challa asked the former Avenger.

Steve smirked self-consciously, "I have a lot on my mind."

"Your friend will be safe here." T'Challa reassured.

"It's not him. Bucky's been through more than hell and lived. This place is paradise. I know your docs are working their hardest to help him." Steve glanced at the jet and then to the air beyond, "I'm going home but I'm not welcome. I must do something to help, but I'm not sure what. Tony and I might… meet. I'm sure there are some others who I might come across who may not be happy to see me." Cap felt the burner phone in his pocket that Tony had a direct line to and fidgeted with it.

"Yes, but you all work for the common good, no?" T'Challa placed a hand on Steve's shoulder. Rogers looked at him with a small smile. "I think when you arrive your plan will be clear. You have a while to contemplate it."

"Thanks." Steve replied not thinking of anything else to say. He already felt so in debt to this king that it made the tops of his ears burn in embarrassment. It reminded him of when he was a shrimp of a kid borrowing or begging for some grocery staples from their neighbors when the Barnes's were not available.

"But I have one thing for you before you go." T'Challa waved behind him and servant appeared bearing a round object. He took it from the servant and handed it to Rogers.

Steve took it hesitantly and unfolded the fabric around the disc. It was a shield but charcoal grey. The stripes and star were engraved upon it but the shield seemed to pull light in, rather than reflect it. Rogers looked at the gift and then to T'Challa, speechless.

"Take this. It's a gift from the Wakandan people. Vibranium can do many useful things." T'Challa commented dryly raising an eyebrow, "And this one has no baggage."

"Thank you." Steve managed, staring at the gift.

T'Challa nodded as Rogers boarded the jet. The Wakandan pilot flicked a few switches and the plane began to rise out of the hangar. Steve settled in to consider his plan.

Hours passed until they began to approach Canadian airspace. The pilot turned on the coms, "Captain Rogers, is there a particular place you'd like me to set down?"

Cap thought for a moment and then asked, "Can we track people in this plane?" Steve had been astounded at the level of technology the Wakandans possessed that seemed to defy human logic. Tony Stark would be floored at all the things T'Challa and his people could do.

"Yes sir."

Steve thought carefully. Besides Tony, who would he next expect to find trying to help. "Can you track Natsha Romanov?"

"Yes sir. One moment."

"And we won't be violating anyone's airspace?" Steve asked not wanting anyone scrambling jets on their tails.

There was a bemused chuckle on the com, "No sir." Rogers smiled to himself at the pilot's self-confidence. "She is currently in… Colorado not too far from Denver." There was a pause, "Apparently, her vehicle has broken down."

"How do you know that?" Rogers said incredulously.

"I can see her. On satellite." The pilot popped the picture up on a display near Steve, who was in the passenger portion of the jet. There she was, red hair and all, looking like she was cursing the manufacturer of the truck loudly. Cap smiled.

"How old is this image?" Rogers asked.

"About five minutes. We are over the United States now with an ETA of thirty minutes to Ms. Romanov's location. Do have further directions?"

"No, just get me as close to her as you can. I… I might parachute to save you the trouble." Steve began to think how he was going to connect with her without her calling in Tony, "I wish there was a way to call her."

"Consider it done, sir."

"What?" Steve said, shocked, then the display began to function like a phone. The sound of ringing was heard.

"Who is this?" the furious voice of Natasha came to life through the microphone. She was panting as if she had been in a fight.

Steve figured she was arguing with the truck but he put on his best cheerful voice, "Natasha, this is Steve."

Silence followed. The clock was ticking.

"Natasha, I want to help you with whatever you're doing. Let me help you." Steve filled in the void.

Her breathing quieted, "You know what could happen if they find you here."

"Yes."

"And you don't care?"

"There are bigger things to worry about than old feuds."

"What about international laws?"

"People are dying, Tash. I gotta stop it."

The pilot signaled they were practically on top of her location.

"I'm coming to you. Don't move a muscle." Steve said quickly, hung up and pushed a cargo door button. His passenger space filled with icy, roaring air. Flinging on a parachute, he grasped his new shield to his chest and gave a quick salute to the pilot, leaping out of the plane.

The pilot watched Steve's descent, deploying a small drone to escort him to the surface.

Like old times, Rogers steered the chute down to the ground quickly and batted down the canopy so that it was not easily visible. Lucky for him, Colorado was a very large and empty place and the current state of emergency prevented people from traveling. The ribbon of interstate highway lay not far beyond his position. Hearing the drone, he waved to it and it flew on to Natasha.

Natasha saw the Wakandan drone approach as she leaned heavily on her broken-down truck, arms across her chest and a smear of dust on her forehead. When it reached her, it hovered at eye level and then projected a hologram of the pilot. "Ms. Romanov, greetings from Wakanda. Captain Rogers is on his way. We wish you luck and contact us if you need assistance."

Black Widow kept her mouth shut and nodded in acknowledgement of the message. The drone lifted straight up into the brilliant blue sky until it was nothing but a speck against the clouds. Her ears heard Steve approaching through the sagebrush of the roadside.

"Tasha." Steve said when he reached her, slightly out of breath.

She looked at him and saw something new. Worry lines were etched deeper into the corners of his eyes and forehead. There was a haunted shadow in his gaze of loss and grief. The recent tragedies in his life had marked him physically. Natasha wondered how they marked him emotionally. Keeping her tone even, she replied, "Steve."

"So, what seems to be the problem?" Steve asked with a small smirk, trying to drum up some positive conversation.

"I stole a no-good piece of crap. That's what's new." She groused and kicked the tire with the back of her heel.

"Nothing an old timer like me can't fix. Let's see." Steve looked inside the engine.

"So Wakanda. That's where you've been all this time." She intoned the happy-to-see-you voice he had just used.

Steve turned his head to look at her, his eyes dark and clouded, "Yes. And I'd prefer if you'd keep it that way. I'm just here to help."

"Isn't how some of this all started, Steve? With secrets?" Natasha prodded, wondering why she was suddenly feeling anger in her belly as if a burning lump of coal was her breakfast, slowly smoldering in her guts.

He turned back to the engine trying to keep his tone even, "If you want to play the blame game, by all means, go ahead. It was all those secrets you dumped onto the internet that got Zemo all fired up and Bucky in trouble."

"You're blaming me for the Accords then? And what happened to T'Chaka and… everything short of Peggy dying. Thank God, that was a _natural_ occurrence." Her voice was acid making her throat burn as the words shot out of her mouth.

Rogers stood straight up out of the engine compartment, slowly walking toward Romanov. The pain in his eyes was palpable. His voice was a deadly low quiet, "No, you did what you thought you had to do at the time. There was fallout from that, that we could not foresee. Tony and I… we've had our differences for years. It was going to come to a head at some point. You just hastened the inevitable." He paused, his blue eyes searching her green, "I just wish we didn't have to split up over this. I wish… Bucky wasn't involved."

Natasha realized she was holding her breath and her whole body was tense. A band of steel was crushing her skull in a headache. Letting her breath out slowly, she admitted, "I'm sorry, Steve." Swallowing, she continued, "I've missed… everyone. I feel responsible for a lot of what has happened to you, the team… Bucky. Everyone."

Rogers softened a bit. He could see she was hurting too. "It's ok."

"No, not really. Look at us." She gestured widely, a bitter laugh on her lips, "Thrown to the four corners of the planet, or beyond, with some legal shackles holding us down. We're nothing, Steve."

Cap's tone was droll, "I disagree. We're still Earth's mightiest heroes. Just on a hiatus. Look, here we are trying to do some good." Natasha frowned slightly at him. "Let me get this thing up and running before nightfall and let's get somewhere we won't look suspicious. I don't want you getting me in trouble."

"Me. Get you… in trouble." Natasha scoffed and leaned in on the side of the engine with Rogers to help him fix the truck.

"Remember, it's not how we stick together, just that we do, right?" Steve paraphrased Romanov.

She gave him a shove in his shoulder as they both looked at the engine. Maybe this would turn out ok in the end, she thought, and they could get the team back together. _One thing at a time, Natasha,_ she scolded herself _, one thing._


	8. Showtime

The next morning, Erica woke with a languorous stretch and sat up in her bed. Slipping her robe on, the remains of dinner sat on the table, the wineglass still with her lip print on the rim and last dregs of wine in the bottom. Shrugging at the mess, she moved to her cell phone, pulling it off the charger.

"Come here." she texted.

In a few moments, a lab coated assistant knocked on the metal door that she had cut between her lab and her living space. Looking around her corrugated steel box home, she wondered why more people don't live in storage facilities, so practical! Rising, she answered the door.

"Yes ma'am?"

"It's time for phase two. Is the satellite feed ready?" she asked pulling the robe around her slender frame and shoving a piece of stray red hair behind her ear.

"Yes ma'am."

"Alright. Get things up and running with the crew. I'm going to clean up and be there soon." She dismissed the man.

Martin moved around her space brushing her teeth and getting dressed for her big moment. Slowly she went through her statement of what she would say. Rolling over in her mind, she determined how she was going to say it. Was she going for terrifying criminal? Or mentally fractured genius academic?

Chuckling to herself as she spit into her jerry-rigged sink and sipping some bottled water. Either way, the ball was in her court and there was not much anyone could do. It's not like the Avengers could do anything against a virus. _Hulk smash a viral particle?_ She laughed again. _Hey Hawkeye, can you shoot a pathogen? Not really_. _Is your mighty shield going to yield to super measles, Captain America? And Tony Stark… where is your smarts now? Stick to your stupid suits!_

Running a brush through her long auburn hair, she went for the simple upsweep ponytail and a simple solid shirt over jeans because patterns can be distracting on video. Slipping on a white lab coat, she adjusted her lapels in the cracked mirror. Perfect.

"Showtime!" she chirped and moved into the room next door.

In front of her lab space of incubators, test tube oscillators and HAZMAT suits was a simple table and a chair. A technician was behind a small HD camera and another was operating a computer connected to the camera as he tried to scramble the source of the broadcast.

Erica sat down gracefully behind the table as lights were turned on to light up her fiery hair. "Ready?"

"Yes ma'am. We will have five minutes of scrambled air time before they will be able to trace our broadcast. Then we will have to shut down." The tech stated.

"Then let's get on with the show, shall we?" She smiled as the next tech signaled with his fingers… 5…4…3…2…1.

"Good morning, America." Erica began with another blazing smile of triumph.


	9. In the Shadows

(The night before Erica's phase 2 announcement)

"Lucky for us it's summer, hmm? Sleeping here _al fresco_." Steve commented pillowing his arm behind his head as a few wayward crickets chirped. The lights in the alley they parked in sent harsh building shadows above them and created a nice dark space that concealed their truck perfectly.

"I like it colder." Natasha commented, trying to get comfortable in the back of the truck bed next to him.

"Spoken like a true Russian."

"You have no idea."

"Actually, I think I do."

Natasha poked him hard in the ribs, "Smart ass."

The scurrying of raccoons and a few odd rats around them broke the silence between them. The police patrolled regularly for looters and sick people but other than them, Cap and Natasha had not seen a single soul.

"Steve." Natasha tried to see the stars beyond the harsh light above them that also concealed them.

"Yes?"

"Do you still think I'm a friend?" Romanov asked.

Rogers paused wondering where she was going with this. Natasha was not a woman of regrets.

"You still awake, old man?"

"Yeah. I don't need the 4:30pm dinner special, Natasha. I was thinking."

"That hard of a decision, hmm?"

"No. Not really. Just wondering why the question."

"Well, being that I'm laying next to an international criminal right now, I figured I'd ask if we're on a friendly basis."

Steve turned on his side, propping his head up on the palm of his hand, looking down at Natasha. "Well, I do owe you for letting me and Buck go back in Dusseldorf."

"So that makes us friends, still?" her tone was frank, her red hair like molten lava in the low light.

"Tasha… "Steve sighed, "I understand your motives. I understand your choices. I may not agree with them, but I understand them. I'd hope that wouldn't change our friendship."

"But."

"But what?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, "C'mon, Rogers. How do you know I'm not working for Tony right now and he won't swoop in and arrest you right now?"

Cap smiled down at her, his perfect teeth white in the shadows, "Because that isn't you. You know why I'm here and why you're here and it's for good things. Even Tony is working the problem, but in his own way. Look… it's like we're practically together again. Just … how do you say it nowadays; telecommuting."

Widow looked at the war vet in the eyes and knew he spoke the truth. It didn't make her feel any better about what she did though and the role she had played in the unraveling of the Avengers. "You're like a goddamned George Washington, Rogers."

"I've heard that before. Bucky used to say it when we were kids." His tone became wistful.

"How is he?" Natasha asked, a note of fondness and concern for the former assassin in her voice.

"Better than he was."

"That's not saying much."

"Tony didn't tell you what happened in Siberia?" Steve wasn't terribly surprised.

"Not really. You know him, always short on details. And he wasn't exactly in the mood to talk about it."

"It was quite a scuffle." Cap looked just beyond Natasha at the graffiti on the brick wall behind their truck, "Zemo pulled that thread on Bucky's file and showed Tony that Buck had killed his parents, when he was under the influence of HYDRA that is." Natasha saw an angry flash in Steve's eyes as he told the story, voice taut. "Tony tried to kill him. We both fought him off and Bucky lost his left arm, blown off by Tony."

"Is he ok!?" Natasha sat up with a start.

"Yes. We both staggered out of there barely alive…. All three of us, of course."

"Where does T'Challa fit into this?"

"He gave us a ride. And fixed us both up." There was a note of sadness in his tone as he rolled onto his back again.

They sat for a while in silence before Romanov broke it, knowing there was something else he wasn't saying. "What's wrong?"

"He went back under, Natasha." he said flatly. She gasped in surprise. "He chose to be frozen again till the Wakandans can fix whatever is in his head."

"Steve… I'm so sorry." Natasha apologized, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder that rested near her knee. She realized his heartbreak must be unbearable and part of that was her doing. Romanov felt another red mark in her ledger, but this one cut into her too.

Rogers reached up and held her hand for a moment, squeezing it. A small smirk came to his lips. "He talked about you."

"Me?"

"Bucky said you were the best thing in his life back then, in the Red Room. He didn't say much about it, but I could tell you must have helped him even though you were going through hell too." Steve commented in a grateful tone. "I can't even begin to imagine…But that sounds like him; always helping. Specially a pretty girl."

Natasha felt her cheeks color. Both of them had been pawns in the terrible twisted game that HYDRA was playing. A shudder ran through her body.

"I didn't mean to bring up bad memories, Tash." He let go of her hand. She pulled it up to her chest and cradled both of her hands together.

"No. No. The past is past. He was right. We kind of found each other in a horrible situation." She said gazing up at lights above, clearing her throat. Some nights she still felt that metallic grip around her larynx and his cold eyes under the influence of the Winter Soldier, not the warm and intelligent war vet she had met all those years ago in the Red Room.

Widow, wanting to change the subject, began, "Aren't you wondering why we're driving to Montana?"

"I figured you'd tell me eventually."

"Tony gave me a few leads he'd picked up on his various listening posts. Apparently, there was a rather intelligent student of microbiology who was making a fuss over the last few years."

"They not get their dissertation funded or something? Did Tony father a child with this person?"

"No. It wasn't part of any Stark funding projects or his soirees post-Pepper. There was an uptick in some equipment going places and viruses being purchased." Natasha felt more grounded discussing the mission rather than Barnes, who sometimes made her feel lost in the stream. "And the arrows began to point out west here."

"Were you able to pin it down more specifically?" Steve looked up at Natasha who still sat with her back to the cab side of the flatbed.

"Not exactly. But I have some hints that we need to be in Casper." She lowered her gaze at his upside-down one.

"Good old women's intuition?"

"More like 'bioterrorist Russian instinct'."

"Wow." Steve's eyebrows raised, "Are you immunized? You made it all the way here not getting ill."

"I've had so many shots, Rogers, it'd make your head spin." She said a bit cockily, "How about you Mr. Pre-Polio vaccine?"

"Since I've been this," he gestured with his hand the length of his body, "I've not even caught a head cold."

"Oh. Tough guy, hmm?" Natasha crossed her arms over her chest.

"I wouldn't say so. Just damn lucky." He chuckled, "I've caught and lived through so many diseases, Natasha, it would make _your_ head spin."

"Well, Mr. Luck, we better turn in so we can get on the road tomorrow." Natasha commented, sliding down and turning her back to Steve, pillowing her head on a bent elbow.

"G'night, Natasha." Rogers said with a yawn.

"You too, Steve." She replied and closed her eyes, trying not to see Bucky's frozen face, feeling guilt-ridden about it.


	10. All the Time in the World

She paused for effect after her salutation. Erica's eyes were trained on a spot just above the camera to make her look engaged and sincere, instead of making direct awkward eye contact with the lens.

"Some of you will be seeing this on your TVs, some hearing it through the radio or maybe your handheld device. Either way, I am here to tell you some exciting news!"

She reached just off camera for a vial.

Sitting back up she showed the vial to the camera. "Citizens of the world, I have a vaccine for what ails you. Here it is. "She looked fondly at the bottle in her hand of clear liquid. "Pretty basic, really. Just a bit of reverse engineering, but oh… I'm sorry your best and brightest couldn't get the forward engineering figured out." She smiled, "But _I did, because I made it_."

Martin paused and reached off screen again for a sip of water, "I'm no terrorist, I don't want money or fame or infamy really. I don't need anything from the President… _congratulations on the promotion mister former Vice President_ , or Congress. So, what do I want?"

Erica set the vial of vaccine down off camera and sat up straight facing the lens, hands carefully in her lap, piercing green eyes seeming to reach through to the people on the other side.

"I want you all to know this is what happens when someone puts their very smart brain towards a goal. To be the first to achieve a benchmark. Like Orville Wright and his brother. Or even a Howard Stark. That's it. Work hard, play hard, right?" her tone was venomous. "If you'd like a bit of my vaccine, you just need to figure out who I am and where I am. Good luck."

And the broadcast was over. The tech running the computer signaled they were totally off line. Three minutes and change. That wouldn't have given anyone much time at all to trace the broadcast. Just the way she planned it.

After all she wasn't some pontificating villain going off on a monologue like in all the movies.

"Thanks guys. Let's get busy making some vaccine. I doubt we'll have company, but just in case." Her voice was upbeat as she looked forward to the work.

"Ma'am, pardon me for asking, but are you just going to hand it over?" one of the lab techs asked.

"Of course not." Her eyes sparkled, placing her hands in her pockets of the lab coat.

"Then why make it?" he asked further.

"Deary, you know I don't like questions." she looked sadly at her tech and with a flash produced a hypodermic needle, plunging it into the man's neck. He gargled a scream and then dropped to the floor. The other lab coated men froze in place. "Well, don't just stand there. Get him out of here. Put him in the freezer. I'll have to read up on my CSI how best to dispose of him, later."

The men moved quickly without word as she looked down her nose at them. As they left she tisked. Too bad they'd all be dead in about 48 hours from a particular strain of botulism she had added to their rations. Just enough time for her to make some more vaccine.

That was all time she needed.


	11. Mystery Woman

A slightly sinister woman's voice came over the radio as Steve and Natasha drove northward towards Montana on the lonely, deserted highway.

She didn't make any demands but offered a challenge; catch me if you can. The broadcast didn't last long and was immediately followed by a barrage of voices who were hosting the talk show. Steve reached over and flicked the radio off. There was nothing that would be said after that that would help, just a bunch of gobbling talking heads.

Almost immediately, Widow's phone rang. "Yes? Yes, I just heard it too. No, the voice doesn't ring a bell." She listened, Steve glancing at her occasionally, "Yes, I'm following one of your leads. Yes, I'm alone. Will you stop the 20 questions, Tony?"

Suddenly, she began to sneeze. Cap resisted the urge to say, 'bless you' because he wanted her lie to stay true.

"Yes, I'm fine, Tony. For crying out loud. Just work on a trajectory for that broadcast. And an I.D... FRIDAY or Vision should be able to whip up something, right?"

Cap could hear an anxious Stark voice on the other side as if he were afraid of losing her too after the fallout of the Avengers.

"No, Vision cannot come out here. If he does, it violates the Accords." Natasha reminded him. Steve could hear a stream of expletives as she pulled the phone away from her ear. "Well, if you want to see some action, talk to Ross and the U.N., not me. I'm the best choice for this because… well, I'm a spy and …I just am."

Rogers listened as he kept his eyes on the road, the prairie sliding by.

"Ok. I'll be in touch." Widow said finally and hung up. Stowing her phone, she searched the truck for a tissue. Not finding one, she settled for the back of her sleeve.

"Bless you." Steve finally said.

She glanced at him, "Thanks. My head is pounding. I didn't sleep well last night."

Steve straightened up some, "What do you mean?"

She glared at him, "It means I'm grouchy, not sick with super measles, Rogers."

"Ok."

They drove on for a few moments as Widow massaged her temples. She had close to a dozen different weapons on her person but not one dose of Tylenol.

"Tony is using voice and facial recognition to work on our terrorist." she offered finally.

"I figured as much."

"You know we're still something like… two days hard drive from Casper." Widow mentioned looking out the window, white line zipping by on the shoulder and puffy clouds reflecting on the glass. She was glad to not be seeing huge holes being dug in the ground.

"Yep. That will make her location a challenge. Whomever this is, has the ball in her court."

"I guess we'll just keep driving north, wait for recon from Tony and make our plans."

Miles passed, "You sure you're ok?" Steve asked looking over at Natasha who was cushioning her head on the door frame, eyes partially closed.

"Right as rain, Spangled Man."

"I'm not spangled anymore." Rogers replied.

"So I should call you the Captain Grey Shield?" she chuckled lightly.

"I think you should just rest."

"Ok, Daddy."

"Hey, I'm not your daddy. I'm your grandpa. Get it straight." He smiled at her.

She smiled back, but inwardly was wondering how much larger the rash on her chest had gotten from this morning and worrying if she was infecting Steve with every breath she took.


	12. Come Find Me

Tony paced in front of the virtual console turning over every digital leaf he could think of. Who was that woman? The phone on his desk was lit up with every Congressional representative calling for a vaccine (for themselves) from great Stark Tech or reporters were clamoring for updates, quotes, _anything_ to tell people that the good guys were winning. He ignored them.

FRIDAY had already started running voice and facial recognition hours ago but this person had very cleverly, somehow, never spoke on voice mails or much on any sort of recorded device. Her face was also hard to place. Her facial age screamed millennial but her on-line presence bellowed pre-Internet. She was just so… plain Jane.

Stark resisted the urge to throw things across the room.

Should he take Natasha's advice? Or was that sarcasm? Should he call Ross? His brows beetled together tightly in thought. The last time he let Ross get involved, it blew his team apart. But what could he do in a suit? This was a virus, not an alien.

The burner phone from Cap rested, as it had since he got it, in his trouser pocket, never far from his hand. He hovered his palm over it, fingers twitching. No... not yet. He was not ready for that reunion just quite yet.

Resignedly, he sighed, shoulders slumping to the floor as if the weight of all the deceased pressed upon him. He collapsed into a chair, praying a cup of coffee would make itself and come to his hand by magic. Cradling his head in his hands, he almost fell asleep until he heard something.

"I think we got her." The lilting Irish accent of FRIDAY commented.


	13. Take Care

"We gotta find some gas, Natasha." Steve said softly glancing at the spy. She was asleep, braced on the door frame. He could see the fine glistening of sweat on her brow. Was that the sunlight shining on her making her warm, or a fever? Rogers checked the AC. It wasn't great, but the weather wasn't scorching hot either.

She mumbled something in reply.

"Natasha?" Rogers nudged her gently with his hand.

"What?" she slurred.

"We need some gas. I'm pulling over at the next rest stop." They were roughly in the middle of Wyoming. The flat plains and grasslands had turned into the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, which were a sight to behold. The highway was deserted of all cars except them. Rogers signaled for no one in particular as he exited the highway for a rest stop.

As they rolled in, no one was at the station. The pumps were still on and the shop stocked but it was as if everyone had just vanished. "Wait here. I'm going to check this place out." Steve said to the still slightly incoherent spy. Hoping out, he grabbed his new shield from the bed of the truck and approached the convenience store. Patrolling outside first, he found nothing, then entered. The place was as eerie as a ghost town. Steve found some drinks in the cooler and a few snacks and paid for what he guessed was the capacity of the truck's gas tank. He laid cash on the countertop next to the register.

"What's that for?" he heard behind him.

Before he recognized the voice as Natasha, the grey vibranium shield was up and ready for battle.

"Whoa there 100 Shades of Grey." Romanov said in a wheezy voice then coughed.

Cap lowered the shield, his eyes grey with concern, "You're not well."

"Yeah. And that money isn't paying anyone because they're gone." She coughed lightly and shuffled off for the rest room.

"Well, I don't like stealing. Or lying!" he called after her.

"Truth is a matter of circumstance." She called back and coughed more as she pushed the ladies rest room door open.

Steve frowned towards her location and then packed up the drinks and snacks, grabbing a bottle of Tylenol on the way out.

She found him standing next to the truck, filling the tank. "You are sick."

"Yes. Are you?" the tone wasn't sarcastic but one of genuine concern. Her eyes were glazed with fever.

"No. I'm fine. Really. Here." He handed her a bottle of water and then the Tylenol. She leaned heavily against the truck and sucked the water down like it was air. Just before the last gulp was done, she managed to pop two pills in.

Just then, her phone rang. She fumbled with her pocket almost dropping the phone. Steve snatched it from her failing grip.

"Hello, Tony." Steve said confidently as Widow swayed on her feet.

There was a long silence on the other end.

"Tony, stop this nonsense. Natasha is sick."

"What did you do?" Tony's voice was a tight whisper.

"I did nothing. Natasha here is the one who's been mixing and mingling with the populace and has now apparently gotten sick." Rogers kept his tone even as he cast a look at Widow. She was sticking out her tongue at him as she slid down the side of the truck, beads of sweat on her brow.

Again, there was a pause. Steve could hear Tony swallowing on the other side.

"We don't have all day, Stark. What did you want to say?"

"FRIDAY has ID'd the girl. She's a former student of one of my seminars. An Erica Martin. Cell biologist and microbiologist. No location though." Tony let out in a stream afraid if he stopped, his throat would close.

"Damn. Is the previous location info probably still good?"

"Until I have further data, yes." Tony stated.

Cap sighed heavily, looking down at the sick Widow, who was sitting on the ground, head in her hands. He pulled out the gas nozzle, reset it and closed the tank. "Any other information before I go kick this girls' ass?"

"Get Natasha some help. I … "Tony gulped, "I don't have a vaccine."

Steve softened his tone, "I will, Tony. And do me a favor."

"What?" Stark asked skeptically.

"Stay in touch." Cap was sincere.

Stark paused then answered, "I will. Take care of her."


	14. Time is Everything

Erica held the micropipette with absolute precision behind the fume hood glass, adding the enzymes needed for the vaccine to the weakened super-measles virus. She was holding her breath although she didn't need to and not blinking until she had released the exact volume to the solution. With a single smooth motion from years of lab work, she capped the last reagent tube and set it in the incubator tray to gently oscillate behind the glass. Slipping her arms out of the rubber gloves, the positive air pressure inside the hood inflated them making a pair of adoring black arms looking like they wanted a high five or a hug. A soup of insect cell culture sat nearby, gently warmed and fed by its solution. Martin was going to inoculate the cell culture which would thereby produce enough vaccine for millions.

 _Good thing you were scanning JAMA the other day_ , she congratulated herself. The insect cell technique was new and promising and was a new and incredibly fast way to produce vaccine, as compared to chicken egg culture, which was the gold standard for vaccine production. It wasn't FDA approved yet, but she didn't care.

Machines hummed and whirred in perfect synchrony making her feel totally at ease. Suddenly, the peace of the lab was shattered by her cell phone.

Jumping in surprise, she thrust her hand into her lab coat pocket and in her anger swiped for the call before checking the number.

"Erica?" It was a frightened woman's voice on the other side.

"Mom. What do you want?" Erica snapped, "I told you not to- "

"I know but you… you were on the news. You did this?" the recrimination in her mother's tone was painful.

"Yes. I did."

"But why Erica? People are _dying_!"

"Because I CAN, mom. I can. I'm smart enough and I can. That's why." She spat.

"We raised you better than this." Her mother's voice whispered to her.

"I got to go. Your _welcome_ for your shots of vaccine." With a furious poke, she hung up the phone. Irritated, she chucked the phone onto the lab table, using her other hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. The morning had been going so well, until that. The echoes of her mother's voice hung in the air: _We raised you better…._

 _Well I am better, mother. I am better than all of you!_

Taking a calming breath and pushing her red hair behind her ears, she looked at the clock and checked the temperatures of her cell and viral solutions. Time was everything. Her lab techs were starting to show the effects of their botulinum poisoning, although none of them said a word edgewise to her. Thinking for a moment, she began to seriously consider publishing the effects of her mind serum on males after this latest project was finished. It _could be_ lucrative.

 _One thing at a time_ , Erica, she chided herself feeling a bit more optimistic about the day.

* * *

Cap helped Widow into the truck. He went back to the store and grabbed a cooler and a few bags of ice, paying for those too, which made Widow eye roll at him after he told her. At least he thought she eye rolled. It could have been delirium.

Pillowing her head on an icepack across her shoulders, he climbed in and started the truck, carefully pulling out back onto the highway.

"Stark knows I'm working with you now." Widow commented, greedily slurping cold water.

"Yep. I don't see Vision or anyone else coming for us, so I guess he's staying mum." Steve remarked looking skyward around the roof of the truck and then at Natasha. She was pale and still sweating. "You know, if I hadn't been born in the early 1900's, I'd be terrified right now."

"We're so fragile here in the 21st century?"

"Let's just say, I saw my fair share of fevers." He smiled gently, "But I'm still taking you to a hospital."

Natasha sat up in her seat as the world swam before her eyes, "No you are not."

"I most certainly am. I can't take care of you and fight this science goon at the same time."

"I'll be fine." Natasha said swaying.

"Right. Take a nap."

Natasha's phone rang. Steve reached for it instinctively now and flipped it on, "Tony?"

The billionaires voice was excited but cautious, "I think we got a ping on her phone. I'm sending the coordinates to Natasha's nav computer." There were some furious key clicks then a more tender tone, "How is she?"

"She thinks she's fighting alongside me here and not to the nearest hospital I can find."

"Steve, does she need an evac?" Stark was firm.

"I do NOT need an evac, Tony." Widow said loud enough for him to hear. "You are not Nick Fury and do not get to baby me."

"You heard the lady." Rogers finished.

Tony muttered things to himself under his breath.

"Thanks for the info, Tony. Good to hear from you again."

Stark paused not sure what he was ready to say, "Yeah. You too."

Rogers hung up the phone and set it on the center console as it displayed the coordinates the phone tap had revealed. The GPS calculated at their current rate, the two of them would be at the location by sundown. He also noted the nearby hospitals were over a four-hour drive in any direction. Cap cursed the drafters of the western states making them so huge.

"Can you hang on till night fall?" Steve asked then glanced at Natasha. She was sound asleep, head bobbing on her makeshift icepack neck wrap, a prickly red rash climbing up out of her shirt and across her neck. Rogers had lied just a moment ago. He was terrified. Measles, mumps and a host of other now preventable diseases took the lives of kids he knew like a thief. He just hoped the specter wasn't coming for Romanov too.


	15. Good mind, Good heart

Steve drove on through the morning half keeping his eye on the road, half on his delirious friend. She mumbled from time to time, dreaming. Sometimes the dreams were violent making her thrash in the front seat against her seatbelt screaming in Russian. Sometimes they were tender where tears leaked down her cheeks from closed eyes and her voice softened to a whisper. The violent ones made him want to jump into her skull and save her from the terrors that plagued her. After reading Bucky's file, he could only guess at what she had lived through in the Red Room. The tender ones caused his cheeks to blush and his heart to break for her, particularly because Bucky's name was mentioned more than once.

They approached the Montana border shortly before noon and Cap took some more remote roads to avoid any roadblocks or patrols. He was a marked man and if the cops pulled him over with a sick passenger, it wouldn't matter one iota if he had been Captain America.

 _Had been._

The open road left him with a lot of time to reflect. All his life, he wanted to help but couldn't. Finally, given the chance, he helped but the burden of that leadership was heavy. Was he glad it was gone? Or did it leave a round star spangled hole in his sense of purpose? Who was Steve Rogers now? A war vet? A comic book character? A dancing monkey?

Peggy's voice was a whisper in his ear, "You're better than they give you credit for."

 _I know, Peggy. I know. Just hard to find the right direction._

He rubbed his fingers of his left hand between his nose and upper lip in contemplation as the road passed by under their truck. He just wanted to help.

After everything that had happened, was he helping anyone now?

Frowning, he focused back on the empty road. Helpless he was not.

It was harder to find an abandoned gas station the second time but eventually one came into sight. Filling the truck, he grabbed a few more snacks, placing a bill on the counter and hearing Widow laugh again in his mind for paying when no one was around to collect the cash.

"Integrity is doing the right thing when no one was watching." he mumbled to himself as the door chimes closed behind him, knowing he was on security camera, at least. Let _that_ be a reminder of the right thing to do!

Getting in the truck, he felt Natasha's head. She was a bit cooler but still perspiring. The rash was angry looking as if it was going to bite his hand. "Natasha. Tash. You want something to eat?"

"Go away, Nick." She grumbled, snuggling into the sidewall of the truck more.

Steve chuckled, "No, not Nick. Steve."

She cracked a bleary eye and looked toward him, "How long have I been out?"

"About 500 miles." he replied and handed her a tube of cortisone cream.

She accepted it with a groan of body aches, fever and sitting in a cramped position. Unzipping her Avengers suit down to her bellybutton she slathered cream on herself. Steve's eyes went skyward and he turned his face to look out his window. "Really, Rogers?" she smirked. That comment made him know she might be feeling a bit better.

"Yeah. Well, you talk in your sleep. I know some things about you I didn't before."

"Such as?" The cream was cool and a relief to the angry rash. Her head still spun and she felt like the fires of hell were lit inside her, but the prickly part stopped, temporarily.

"Maybe I'll tell you over a beer."

"That's a promise." She replied zipping up. Rogers heard the zipper and turned back to her, expression concerned. "Where's the Tylenol?"

He handed her the bottle and a water. She popped the pills and finished the water.

"You doing better?" Cap asked, concerned.

"I'm not 100%, but to me… well, this is the first time I'm glad the Red Room shot me up with whatever they did." She said with a bitter note.

"Are you sure?" Rogers watched her eyes closely. Her pupils were not equal.

"Why are you looking.. at… me…" Widow's eyes rolled up in her head and she seized. The water she had just drunk fountained up from her mouth as did the Tylenol, her body spasming against the truck seat.

"Natasha!" Rogers jumped out of his side of the truck, dashing to hers, pulling her out and gently laying her on the ground. Turning her head to the side, she roiled on the ground like a snake.

Steve felt helpless as the seizure continued for several more moments. When it was over, he took her pulse; slow but steady. He wiped her mouth and face tenderly of the spittle and water she threw up and placed her back into the truck. Should he call Tony? Probably not, or this whole thing would blow up internationally and not only get him and Widow in trouble but Tony as well and the villain would get spooked. Should he take her to the hospital? What were they going to do with her? There were a few stories of people surviving, natural selection in action the doctors said, but those were very few.

He stood next to Natasha by the open truck door, looking down on her. "Natasha, you gotta hold on. _Please_. I hope I'm doing the right thing." Making a few new ice packs, he placed them at pulse points around her body as best he could to help cool her fever. He was rewarded with a shiver. Closing the truck door, he hopped in the driver side and they began again.

* * *

Twilight had begun to fall as the ticking time bomb within the lab was reaching the detonation point. It has been almost two days since her announcement to the world. No one had yet to show up. Erica was disappointed. Did she really make it too hard to find her? Was she really that much of a "no-body". That idea enraged her more than anything else. She was SOMEONE. A brilliant someone who can do amazing things just because she was so smart.

 _Then if so, Erica, why hasn't the world come to stop you yet?_ Her inner voice of self-loathing taunted _._

 _Because I guess I was too good at my own game_ , she wickedly smiled to herself, _perhaps I'm rewriting human evolution! I'll be the new Eve!_

Erica and the last of her techs stood shoulder to shoulder. The other techs were dying in various places in her lab from the neurotoxin secreted by the botulism she had fed them secretly.

She had macerated the insect cell culture and was in the process of chemically distilling the vaccine into a stable, injectable form. A small ethanol flame flickered nearby to sterilize and seal equipment and vials. Rudimentary, yes, but this certainly wasn't Johns Hopkins or Harvard. To do these tasks, she needed an extra set of hands, so she kept her favorite tech, Ted with her.

The moaning of the dying was a low undertone to the lab machine hum.

Ted was good graduate student she had found who was lured in by her charm and wit and the prospect of harnessing the power of biotech for something good. What he got was certainly was more than he had bargained for.

He took her doses of mind controlling serum when he was told, but, for some reason he kept wisely to himself, it didn't have quite the same level thrall upon him as the others. He too ate the food, but far less of it somehow instinctually feeling something was very off about it. Unfortunately, when she asked him to do something he usually did it, but he was working very hard in his mind to escape this terrifying prison where good men lay convulsing on the floor in death throes while a madwoman made a disease to destroy the world.

"Ted!" Erica's sharp tone brought him back to the present.

"Yes, ma'am." he said compliantly.

"Get me the next set of vials and seals. These are done. Put them in the refrigerator." she commanded.

"Yes, ma'am." He turned woodenly and did as she requested hating himself for every step he took over and around the bodies on the floor.

When he returned and she began filling the next set of bottles, he sealed them carefully in the flame, placing them in a special egg crate to protect them from damage. "Ted, when this is over, I'd like to give you a promotion." Erica mentioned casually, but not meaning it, knowing that he'd be dead soon like everyone else.

"That would be nice, ma'am." He responded dully, not recalling ever receiving a paycheck in the first place.

"I think you and I could do some great things together. Find some solutions to problems." She rambled on as if she wanted to hear her own voice speak.

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. I'm glad you're open to the suggestion." She smiled prettily at him. He was forced by the serum to smile back but his eyes didn't. He hoped she didn't notice.

* * *

The truck rolled onto the gravel driveway of a U-Store-It facility with a crunching sound. The gates were flung wide open, a chain hanging loose in the headlights. A thunderstorm brewed in the distant mountains making Steve think of Thor. _Well, here's the place_ , he thought and put the truck in park and switching off the engine. Looking at Natasha, she was still unconscious since her seizure earlier in the day. He had no idea if she was doing ok or if her organs were failing or… anything really. All he could do was hope for the best.

Hesitantly, he called Tony on Romanov's phone.

"Steve."

"Tony."

"Is there something wrong?" Stark tried to be pleasant instead of panicky.

"I'm at the address you pin pointed. It's a self-storage facility. What should I be looking for?" Steve asked.

"That's a brilliant plan…." Tony sounded like the location of a secret evil lab was the best thing ever, "Look for power lines and water hoses. What she's doing requires electricity. Refrigeration. How's Romanov?"

"She's hanging in. Thanks." Steve hung up the phone and left it in the seat next to Black Widow.

Grabbing his new Wakandan shield from the bed of the truck, he slipped it on his left arm and cautiously approached the gate. The storage garages were all in straight lines about one alley-width apart, numbered neatly with caged lightbulbs above every number as moths danced around the lights. Most had padlocks on their roll-down doors. Rogers looked at the whole facility with incredulity. There was more than one hundred units. He didn't have time to search each one!

Remembering what Tony said, he took a different approach. A flash of lightening and a rumble of thunder pealed as he parkoured up the wall to the roof of the first row. The darkness was getting thicker as the storms began to blow in, the smell of rain eminent. He looked down the row for any powerlines that had been poached for electricity to a garage unit. Setting into a careful jog, he trotted down the line of storage units, the corrugated roofs making a metallic clang.

A cold pelting rain began to fall as he used his shield as a makeshift umbrella. No powerlines here. Leaping nimbly across, he jogged up the next row. No luck.

Icy rainwater began to soak him to the skin despite the shield so he lowered it and ran on. A yellow cord on the ground caught his attention in a flash of lightning. He stopped abruptly.

"What was that?" Erica said listening above, her eyes trained on the ceiling.

"Thunder ma'am." Ted replied monotone but noticed he was not feeling particularly well.

"I'm not so sure. Go check it out." she replied and returned to her bottle filling, the pitter pater of raindrops drumming on the roof. The last of the men had died and it was nice the rain filled the void of sound.

"Yes, ma'am" Ted responded hearing the pouring rain and not relishing the idea of going outside and getting wet.

"Take the gun." she said absently. Ted said nothing but became slightly rigid in fear. The techs all knew where her one gun was kept but she told them it was off limits, which they obeyed. Now she was giving him the command to find it and use it. Should he shoot her? Could he? There was a strong tug in his brain pulling him back from those thoughts. A shiver of panic went through his body. He was a graduate student, not a gunman.

He found the weapon and moved to the other of the two co-joined units, opening the roll door to the summer storm outside.

Steve hung back from the edge, just barely peeking over to see who was going to emerge.

Ted's white lab coat was quickly doused with water as he scraped his wet hair away from his face with one hand, waving the pistol around with the other. "Who's there? Come out!" he shouted into the wind not being able to see much in the dark and flying water.

Cap jumped down lightly behind him, a trick he learned from T'Challa, and tapped Ted on the shoulder. He met Rogers's fist when he turned, knocking him out cold. Steve took the unconscious tech and pulled him inside the storage unit, out of the rain, quietly as he could.

Taking survey of the room and the next unit with its homemade "door", he lifted his shield and proceeded cautiously. Suddenly, he smelled smoke.

"You're never getting it!" Erica's voice was shrill over the storm; the garage door open to the tempest outside. The winds whipped the orange fire painting strange moving shadows on her freckled face. She stood with her whole crate of vaccine vials hovering above the uncontrolled blaze.

"Hey, let's just talk. We don't need to-" Steve tried to calm the enraged scientist.

"No!" she cut him off, "I'm done talking. I talked all my life and people wouldn't listen to my ideas. You're not going to either!" she railed.

"I'm all ears. Let's put this fire out." Rogers began to approach as he saw the only cure for Natasha and the rest of the world dangling by her fingertips.

"No." She dropped the whole crate into the large bin. The ethanol she added to the mix made a huge blue flame, incinerating everything.

"No!" Steve covered his face with his shield, the heat rolling over him. When he lowered it, she was gone. Glancing into the fiery pit, he saw everything had been destroyed. Roger's heart sank in his chest. He had to catch her.

Launching into the rainy night, he looked left and right but decided she probably was heading towards the exit of the compound, which was not that far. "Erica!" he called into the night above the thunderclaps and flashes of light.

Skidding to a stop Rogers saw in the dripping rain, Erica holding the last vial of vaccine carelessly in wet fingers. In the truck, just beyond, Black Widow was still unconscious and unharmed.

A knot formed in his stomach, "Erica- just wait. Please."

"Wait for what? Tony Stark to appear? Is Vision going to materialize?" Erica jeered. "The world wasn't ready for me yet, I've come to realize that."

"But how about you introduce us to you." he reasoned, hands up in supplication.

"Too late." She dropped the bottle.

Time slowed to a crawl as Cap saw the small glass vial plummeting to the earth as a strangled "NO" ripped out of his throat, leaping forward to impossibly catch it. It shattered on the asphalt into millions of fragments, the vaccine bleeding into the rainwater that poured down from the sky. Steve watched the bottle fragments spin on the ground as he lay on his belly, pounding the ground futilely with his clenched fist.

The bang of a gunshot rang out as a red stain appeared on Erica's chest. She grabbed at her soaked lab coat, staring down incredulously at the wound as a fountain of red leaked over the white. She fell into a heap right in front of Steve.

Rogers looked over his shoulder and saw Ted, swaying on his feet, a bruise over his eye. With the next lightening flash, he was on the ground, dead.

Clawing forward, he took Erica into his arms, putting pressure on the wound, "Erica. I know what it's like to be misunderstood. But you gotta stay alive. You have to. You gotta show the world you're…"

"Good?" she breathed, looking shocked that this conversation was happening.

"Yes."

"But I'm not. I'm not anything."

"Yes, you are."

"No. I'm not sorry." She sighed and her head lolled back as her heart stopped.

Steve felt ultimate frustration rise in him but he set her body down on the pavement gently and stood up, the rain dripping her blood off his hands. This woman wasn't HYDRA. She wasn't the Red Skull or Project INSIGHT or any of the devils he'd faced down. She just was…a woman. A single woman just trying to get attention.

He moved to the truck and found Widow still burning with fever, but her mouth was dry and she looked like she was being pulled into her own body by some force. "Natasha, hang on." he almost sobbed, "Bucky needs you."

Out of the rain a different noise reached his ears. Pivoting, shield up, Steve stood between the truck and the source of the sound. From the sheeting rain, appeared a man in black; a black cat to be more accurate. "Steve Rogers. Quickly. Bring Natasha here."

Without a sound of thanks, Cap scooped up the sick Widow and carried her to the Wakandan transport plane, laying her down on a stretcher while two nurses clad in Tyvek suits and hazmat respirators took over her care. T'Challa motioned to the co-pilot's seat as the hatch began to close. Once T'Challa and Steve took their seats in the front of the plane, a door slipped shut locking the two men away from the cargo area behind. A mist appeared over both men briefly. "Disinfectant. Perfectly safe." T'Challa said over the spraying. Only when the air cleared again did T'Challa take off his cat mask. Looking at a distraught Rogers as he flipped switches and toggles, he commented, "Steve, you have nothing to worry about. We have good news!"

Rogers managed a hoarse laugh of disbelief.

"We have a cure and a vaccine." T'Challa filled in as the plane lifted from the ground, light as a feather. The rain lashed the windscreen as the vehicle picked up speed and eventually stopped once they reached altitude. The cloud caps below flickered eerily like puffy lightening bugs as they flew above them.

Again, Cap was speechless.

"A friend of yours called us and told us the status of your mission. We were already working on a solution to the virus but I think the fact that you never got ill was a breakthrough."

"Would that friend be a certain billionaire?" Steve queried roughly.

"Perhaps."

"He didn't do this to get to Bucky, did he?" Rogers was deadly toned.

"No. Even if Mr. Stark tried to harm your friend, we would defend him to the death." T'Challa explained as they flew on. Steve scrubbed his face wearily with his hands in relief. "It was his sharing of his father's information that led us to the discovery."

"Howard?"

"Yes. The Supersoldier Serum that the senior Stark had been working on in the past held many pieces of the puzzle to the cure and vaccine. Apparently, Tony held that recipe close to his chest, and when it appeared Ms. Romanov needed it, he came forth with it."

"That is interesting." Rogers mused, "And very kind."

"Withholding information of that magnitude would be immoral." T'Challa explained.

A dawning thought occurred in Cap's head, "So you know how to make more of me?"

"Not exactly. If you recall, the serum Howard Stark produced did not work." T'Challa commented referring to the six other Winter Soldiers that Zemo had killed while in cryostorage.

"Right." Steve gazed out the window at the black night sky, dots of light filling it and thinking of Dr. Erskine.

"Regardless, Natasha will be fine. You did a brave thing, Steve." T'Challa commented.

"Except bring that girl to justice."

"She made her own."

"But I still feel like I failed."

"We have a cure. People will heal and move on. This woman's legacy will demonstrate further the power of the human mind and how it should be nurtured with a good heart as well."

Steve chewed on that thought for a moment. Tony's brilliance, trying to help the world made Ultron and ultimately the Accords. Rogers counselling Wanda that you can't save everyone, but you must fight the fight of what is right even if many are harmed. In the end, both approaches had their hearts in the wrong places.

"I think we all are still learning that."

"That, my friend, it called wisdom." T'Challa said seriously meeting his eyes, "We never stop learning it."


	16. Epilogue

Condensation dripped lazily down the surface of the chilled bottle in the tropical humid air, dripping onto her hospital clothes, which looked more like fashionable yoga wear. The sun filtered slowly through dense foliage as birdsong, children's laughter and jungle life rustled nearby. Their patio was perfectly serene to assist with healing.

She and Steve sat in silence, their beers slowly warming for almost the last hour. Natasha was taking it all in after what she considered a long convalescence: two days. The Wakandan cure was very effective. After waking, Rogers had filled her in on what occurred after she had seized. Romanov was impressed. What made her most happy was how fast the Wakandans had produced enough serum by using some of the same tech that Erica had used to create her treatment. _Knowledge is a Pandora's box, isn't it,_ she thought to herself _, in one hand it's a miracle. In another it's a horror show._ Regardless, thousands of people had still perished, which weighed on her heart. The Avengers were never called. Tony hadn't even been able to crack the virus. Black Widow was seriously beginning to question her ability to try to be the tenuous bridge between Stark and Steve. The strange family the Avengers had become, fractured by the Accords, left a super hero sized hole in her heart and it hurt.

Maybe she should just go back to being alone.

"You going to drink that beer?" Steve's voice cut through the humidity.

"Are you going to tell me what you heard?"

"Heard?" he looked innocently at her.

"Spill it, Rogers."

"Let's just say I have a greater insight to your and Bucky's relationship." Steve smiled then sobered, "I'm glad he was there for you. It's his nature to look after people."

Natasha smiled sadly. "Yeah. He kept me sane when it seemed like the world was falling apart."

"That's Bucky." Rogers agreed finally taking a swig of his beer to hide his melancholy.

They sat in quiet again.

"Think we'll ever get back together?" Natasha asked to the air.

"You and Bucky?" Steve looked slightly stunned.

"No, you goof. The Avengers."

Steve exhaled the breath he was holding. It was like he was 16 again getting the "talk" from Bucky about dating… and all the accoutrements.

"Dunno."

"What's it going to take? An act of war?"

"Apparently so. It's in a book I read recently…." His tone became flinty.

Tasha sighed and shifted her weight in the chair, "I hope not."

After a sip of beer, Steve added, "Me too."


End file.
